I’m Ridiculous.

I always get a little squeamish and silly when I’m writing the naughtier bits in my story, like “eeeee, I can’t believe this is happening! Oh my god did they really just do that?” It makes for slow going, and sometimes getting through a single page can take an hour or longer because I relish the experience so much. Due to the nature of my main female character’s phobia those scenes are few and far between, so it’s always exciting when I reach one, but it’s also like being back in junior high and being a bit embarrassed to watch two people make out in the Degrassi episode you’re watching in health class. I’ve been known to blush on behalf of my characters.

Go ahead and say it: I’m a dork. An adorable, 12-year-old dork who likes writing about kissing and boobs.

I hope this never changes about me. I hope that readers feel the same way when they get to that part, that my enthusiasm shows through on the page. I hope they cover their mouths in disbelief and squirm a little because it’s so awesome. That’s how I feel about it, even after the twentieth time I read it. Because OMG YOU GUYS, THEY JUST KISSED. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

Hello. I have a kissing scene in “Thaumaturge” initiated by Caritas when she tells Henry how she feels about him. Later, Caritas, the principal character and narrator, expresses her views about the seemingly lack of privacy/respect for this vulnerable and intimate act as expressed by characters in film and reality who want to know all the details. This makes me cringe. The key words above are “vulnerable” and “intimate”; it’s private and between, or among, the parties involved, and not something to be gossiped about over wine and cheese, or a McWhatever.